


Patches

by orphan_account



Series: Experiences [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt!Cas, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Yes I know let's all stop hurting Cas I'm an evil person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:28:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7307644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A hunt goes wrong, and Cas is forced to deal with experiencing unmuted human pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patches

                After Cas had lost his grace, he’d imagined that there would be some major shift in the dynamic of their group. He’d thought that he would be treated like he felt, infinitely weaker than he had been, less useful with sections of his memory all but lost to him thanks to his now less-than-angelic brain’s capacity. He’d accepted that he’d be put up with for a while but inevitably, he’d have to move on and be a new person. When he’d finally explained this to the brothers, they both looked like they wanted to deck him in different degrees.

                “Jesus Christ, Cas, what do you think we are?” Dean had sighed, sounding slightly incredulous, “‘cause last I checked we’re your family. Hell, if Bobby was here he’d have slapped us for making you think that at all.”

                “We didn’t give you a room because we want you to leave,” Sam supplied, and he couldn’t argue with logic like that.

                Of course, he didn’t stay in that room for too long. Roughly seven weeks after becoming a permanent human fixture in the bunker, all his worldly possessions (some clothes, some weapons, a couple of trinkets from dollar stores and thrift shops) had totally migrated into what was Sam’s room, but by then was known as ‘their room’. By that point he was sure that he wasn’t leaving that easily.

                The real nail in the coffin which caused him to stop those thoughts had been when, three months later, the boys took him on his first human hunt.

                He’d been shocked, because no matter how much he was being convinced each and every day of his worth, there is no easy way to downscale from angelic power to that of a human in any short period of time. (Hell, Cas knew that he might never get used to having to put all his strength into opening the Dorito Salsa jar.) He thought he’d never be strong enough, but the ever present voice of his family wouldn’t cease their reassurances that he was.

                It was an easy hunt, really. Salt and burn. Quick, simple, routine. The ghost of Caroline York-Jenkins was burned with plenty of time to spare and apart from the victims that had drawn them to the case in the first place, nobody else got hurt.

                But because they have yet to learn that nothing ever goes as planned, the second ghost took them all by surprise.

                Especially Cas, who took a knife to the shoulder as a result.

                He doesn’t remember the rest of the hunt after that because he’d never realised how much human pain affects the senses other that just touch. How your hearing goes, your vision clouds over, the high-pitched ringing that feels like oblivion. The awful disorientation of regaining your functions in a completely different place to where you lost them. He answered all the questions thrown at him as he bled in the back of the Impala, and has a vague recollection of Sam trying to staunch the flow of blood whilst murmuring “stupid, dammit”. He’s still not sure which of the three of them Sam was talking about.

                He lost consciousness some way through the journey, but the life of him he couldn’t tell you how long it took for him to finally pass out. When he woke up, he was at the bunker, lying in bed, somewhat numbed by medicine. The bloodied, ragged remains of his shirt were on the floor to his left, where he assumed they been thrown after they were taken off to get to his wound. His first waking thought was _"I liked that shirt”._

                “Cas?”

                To his right, Sam was sat in a chair which had been pulled up to the side of the bed. He didn’t remember their being any chairs in their room before, which made him wonder how long Sam had stood there before Dean finally dragged one in.

                “Sam?” He croaked, and it was a croak. He must have worn out his lungs at some point but he doesn’t remember screaming.

                “Hey, how’s your shoulder?” Sam worried, at which point Cas noticed that glass of water and paracetamol on the bedside table on Sam’s side.

                “Stabby.”

                Sam laughed a little. It was a good sign; the last thing Cas wanted was to have to deal with the human interaction involved in making sad people less sad, especially sad people that he cared about. It also mean that he was capable of making a joke so he couldn’t have been that badly hurt.

                “How long was I asleep for?” Cas suddenly thought to ask.

                “About five hours, but you were kinda hazing in and out of consciousness while we drove back so I don’t know how much you remember.”

                “The last thing I remember is you patching up my wound as Dean drove…”

                “You scared the crap outta me, love, I don’t know what to tell you.”

                “Sorry-”

                “Oh God don’t do that. Don’t go apologising for getting hurt.” And, just as Cas had been trying to avoid, Sam looked distraught. “This was your first real hunt without angelic mojo, I was supposed to look out for you. If I can’t even get you through a salt and burn safely-”

                “Stop, Sam,” Cas demanded, if a little meekly with his sore throat. “If I’m not allowed to blame myself, then neither are you. That’s a vicious circle and you know it.”

                Sam sighed but didn’t respond. Instead, he picked up the water and paracetamol and rounded the bed to Cas’ side, where he carefully helped Cas sit up and take the medicine.

                Dean must have heard them talking because within seconds he was stood in the doorway sending apprehensive glances at Cas and Sam.

                “Hello Dean,” Cas greeted.

                “Hey Cas.” Dean stepped up to the bed and responded, “how’re you doin’, Buddy?”

                “I am in much less pain than I was. Despite the obvious negativity to being stabbed,” he noticed Sam wince at the bluntness of the phrase, “I have learnt much about human pain.”

                Sam looked incredibly downcast but Dean just asked, “oh yeah? What have you learnt?”

                “Mostly that I’d rather not do it again.”

                “Yeah, oh my God, please don’t do that again,” Sam chimed in.

                “But also that pain is very complex,” Cas continued. “It affects so many aspects of a person; memories, senses, rationality for instance. However I do not think that this is an experiment which will require repeat tests.”

                “Oh thank God,” Sam said, just as Dean chuckled, “you got that right,” before stepping out of the room at the sound of a timer sounding down the hall. Food would most likely be ready soon, then. Now that he thought about it, Cas was quite hungry.

                “You dumbass, no more getting injured,” Sam stated matter-of-factly with an edge of desperation, forehead coming to rest against Cas’ temple.

                “I don’t recall ‘dumbass’ being one of our agreed nicknames,” Cas responded.

                “Oh my God shut up, I had to watch you get stabbed today.”

                “I’m fine, I promise,” Cas assured, “you don’t have to worry about me.”

                “Like that’s gonna make me stop.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are like hugs for fic writers' souls.


End file.
